Haunted Spouse
by
Heather MacAllister
(formerly writing as Heather Allison
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Published by Heather MacAllister at Smashwords
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Copyright (c) 1993 by Heather W. MacAllister
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
***
Cover photo credits
(c) Andrey Matuyk| 123RF
(c) carodi| 123RF
DEDICATION
For my in-laws, Edward and Ruth Ann MacAllister, who are not at all scary.
Haunted Spouse was originally published as a Harlequin Romance (r) in 1993 under the pseudonym Heather Allison.
CHAPTER ONE
October 1993
Lizzie Wilcox screamed.
A hideously deformed mummy glowed in a weak orange light, and then slipped through a hidden door, slamming it behind him. Maniacal laughter taunted her as the orange light winked out, leaving her in total darkness.
She waited for her racing heart to slow before tentatively reaching to the side, her fingers crawling along a wall until it veered sharply and disappeared.
She waved back and forth. Nothing. Just an ominous blackness. She crept forward, groping in the dark. She could see nothing. Good.
She took a step. Then another.
Then jumped as a blast of icy air licked her legs.
Trying to catch her balance, Lizzie flailed her arms in the inky black before finding a hold on something warm. Something furry.
Something growling.
She shrieked, blindly twisting away. At that moment, a green glow illuminated another hallway. The growling next to her had turned into a roar, so she ran.
As soon as she entered the hallway, the moaning began.
She was in a dungeon, and these were the cells of lost souls. Transparent wraithlike figures wavered in the air, their skin leathered and wrinkled. She could smell the musty odor of ancient, rotting clothes and hear rattling chains. And, of course, incessant moaning.
Lizzie rushed to the end of the hallway. In the last cell a figure on the far side of its room held up a glowing orb and beckoned to her. Even though she knew better, Lizzie walked up to the bars. She leaned close and suddenly the spirit appeared right in front of her face. He moaned in her ear.
She jumped back, too close to the cells on the opposite side of the hallway. Bony hands reached out to stroke her curly hair.
"No!" she yelled and raced from the green light into more blackness.
Suddenly the floor tilted. Stumbling, she turned another corner and heard her footsteps echo hollowly. She no longer stood on solid cement.
The floor glowed yellow. Looking down between the wooden slats, she saw fire, heard screams and felt pounding as monsters beat on the ceiling of their prison.
Moving as quickly as she dared, she rounded yet another corner.
Something sticky grazed her face. Lizzie brushed at the tenuous strands. "Oh, ick. I hate cobwebs!"
"Then leave," ordered a deep voice at her elbow.
Yelping, Lizzie ran through mist, spurred on by shrieks and screams until she emerged into blinding sunlight.
She blinked, eyes watering. The muggy heat of a Houston fall warmed her face and hands, reminding her that she hadn't applied sunblock this morning. Redheads, especially redheads living in south Texas, should never forget to apply sunblock.
Lizzie exhaled, tucking a bunch of wiry hair behind her ear.
"Well?" demanded a monk with a skull for a face. "How was it? How'd we do?"
"Did we get you?" asked a werewolf, rubbing hairy hands together.
Lizzie remembered her scream. They'd heard it, she knew they had. And they'd have realized it wasn't rehearsed like the rest of her reactions. "Yes, you got me," she admitted. "I wasn't expecting the orange fright zone."
"Awright!" More monsters appeared laughing and whooping. They ripped off their masks to reveal sweaty, and human, faces. "If we scared Lizzie, we'll scare everybody!"
"Hold it!" Lizzie called to get their attention. "In this case, I don't mind you altering my design, but let me show you why I didn't station a fright zone there."
Lizzie walked to the entrance of the Panhellenic Haunted House, Shrieks by Greeks, sponsored by the sororities and fraternities of Houston Junior College. The exuberant students who followed her were trying to raise money for a shelter for the homeless by running a haunted house during October. A sign--Being Homeless is Scary--dangled crookedly from a tree.
Lizzie, actually Elizabeth Wilcox of Elizabeth Wilcox Architects, specialized in designing spook houses and fun houses. For several months out of the year she tried hard to scare people--to make their palms sweat, their hearts pound and their adrenaline rush.
Flipping on the lights inside the entrance to her latest completed design, Lizzie walked a twisting, turning path to a point near the center of the haunted house. "This is where you added the orange mummy, right?"
There were murmurs of assent, and the orange mummy peered out from behind the door.
Lizzie gestured. "Normally this remains closed because it conceals the people operating the mist for the other side."
"I'm also the mist operator," the mummy announced.
Lizzie nodded as she studied the door and the wall opposite it. "Do you think you can do both?"
"Sure," he replied with youthful optimism.
"I went through by myself," Lizzie pointed out. "Usually several groups tour at once. Their screams are heard by those behind them. That adds to their anticipation, their unease. You must time your scares on one side so you won't miss operating the mist on the other." She hesitated, not wanting to discourage their creativity. "You can do it if you're quick."
"Is that the only problem you found?" asked the werewolf.
"You were too late with the light on the other side of the cavern. You don't want people to stop and wait as long as I did. Remember--scare forward. You were a bit too heavy-handed with the cobwebs and the exit sign wasn't illuminated. You’d better check that."
They nodded and she grinned. "Great dungeon scene, though. And what was that smell?"
"Our laundry," answered the monk.
"Very creative." Chuckling, Lizzie kicked and pounded at the walls around the mummy's fright zone. "The mummy has to pop in and out fast. We don't want anyone running into the door. They can't see it in the dark. Safety is your most important consideration." She kicked the walls again. "When the mummy appears, people are going to jump back and bash into this wall, -just the way I did. It'll have to be reinforced."
Groans accompanied her statement. Lizzie laughed. "You've got time. You aren't opening until this weekend."
"We've got midterms," the monk said. "That's why we wanted to finish early. Are you sure the wall isn't strong enough as it is?"
"Maybe. Maybe not." Lizzie tilted her chin. "I can't take the chance that some beefy football player will knock it down, and I won't allow you to, either. No one should be in physical danger."
The monk kicked the wall. It barely quivered. "A hurricane could blow through and this place would still be standing."
A corner of Lizzie's mouth lifted. "I'll be back on Friday for the final inspection."
As she climbed into her car, Lizzie wondered just exactly when on Friday she could schedule another inspection. This was supposed to have been the final inspection. She had other houses, other commissions commanding her attention, including the one at her next destination, a haunted hotel in a nearby tourist ghost town.
Oh, well. Halloween was less than a month away, and the fraternities and sororities wanted to run their haunted house each weekend in October so they could make as much money as possible, a sentiment she heartily endorsed. Besides, her fee would be a percentage of their revenues, since they didn't have enough money up front.
She chuckled to herself. The orange mummy had been extremely effective, catching her unaware. It had been a long time since anything--or anyone--had made her scream.
***
Jared Rutledge wanted to scream. Unfortunately, nothing about the box of body parts was frightening. He was sitting ten feet away and could tell, even in the gloom, that they were fake. Plastic and paint. A cliché.
He rounded a corner. Another coffin, this time with Dracula. Boring.
Ditto for the headless corpse.
Why had he involved himself in this haunted house? Why had he volunteered to design it when he'd promised himself never again?
And blast it, why wasn't anything scary? Had he become so jaded that corpses and assorted unattached limbs had lost their shock value?
"Put your hand in here," instructed his skeleton guide.
Tamping down his impatience, Jared reached through a hole cut in a box and felt a cool, slimy mass.
"Brainsssss," hissed the skeleton.
"Ssssspaghetti," Jared hissed back.
"Perhaps eyeballs are more to your liking," crooned the skeleton.
A sweet smell reached Jared's nose as he squeezed something warm and gooey. "Peeled grapes."
"Are you sure?" the skeleton whispered, a desperate edge on his voice.
Jared examined his damp hand. "Yes."
"Mr. Rutledge, couldn't you at least pretend?"
"I don't want to pretend." Jared searched for something to wipe his hand on. "I want to be convinced. I want to believe."
The skeleton dropped the eyeballs and offered him a paper towel. "Mummy wrappings."
Jared didn't even smile.
"Look," his bony companion began. "Try the mad doctor's laboratory. It's next."
With a sense of doom that had nothing to do with what he was about to see, Jared followed the skeleton into the next room.
Predictably it contained a wild-haired doctor wearing a blood- splattered lab coat poised over some unfortunate with two heads. A hunch-backed assistant lurked in the shadows.
Jared shook his head.
"Well, what's the matter?" the skeleton asked defensively.
"It's just not scary enough." Jared rubbed the area between his eyebrows where a headache threatened. The house contained nothing that would inspire anyone to go through, much less pay for the privilege.
"That's 'cause you know what to expect. It's your design."
Jared sighed. Yes, it was his design, or at least the basic structure was. And building this haunted house had been his idea--but not one of his better ones.
It had seemed like a good idea, a fairly simple proposition--design the structure and let the teenagers who volunteered at the physical rehabilitation clinic near his Dallas office build and decorate the inside. They'd have a grand time and the clinic would raise money.
So what had gone wrong? Why did his house lack that sinister spark which drew people?
Jared leaned forward to inspect the mad doctor display and bumped into the operating table. One of the patient's heads jarred loose, rolled off the table and dropped to the floor where it traveled in a drunken spiral until it came to a stop near Jared's feet.
"Here, I'll get that." The skeleton retrieved the head and awkwardly positioned it on the body. "Maybe things'll be scarier when we finish the painting and everybody's dressed up."
"It'll take a lot more than paint."
"More blood?"
Jared was silent for a moment. "No blood."
He'd offered to help because the clinic needed money. And it probably would make some from the patients, their families and friends of the teenagers who were operating the haunted house. Just not enough.
Jared rubbed his forehead again. The headache was now a reality. The staff at the clinic was counting on him. The patients and their families were counting on him. No doubt they'd be thrilled to raise any money at all. He shouldn't spoil it for them.
He smiled, determined to hide his dissatisfaction. "Let's forget scary and look at this from a different perspective. You'll make a lot of kids happy--kids in wheelchairs or on crutches who struggle through the other houses because of the tilted floors and tight corners. Let's not forget, we had to take their physical limitations into consideration."
"Yeah, I know. I just wanted to really scare 'em," the skeleton said, his disappointment obvious.
Jared berated himself, but better disappointment now than later when they counted the money. "It'll still be scary to the younger children."
"You think?"
"Definitely," Jared assured him. "Concentrate on what kind of house this is, instead of what it isn't."
"Okay." The skeleton nodded, slowly at first, then more vigorously. "Yeah. It's not like this is a Wilcox house, or anything."
Jared's smile froze. He never wanted to hear that name again. "No, this isn't a Wilcox house." But when he'd started the design, he assumed his house would be just as good, if not better. Wilcox houses must have changed in the last several years.
He wondered if Elizabeth had changed, too.
"We couldn't have afforded her, anyway. She's famous. She does the houses for all the big companies."
"I know." Believe me, I know. Every October, the Dallas paper ran a story on Elizabeth Wilcox, the haunted house architect. He never knew when. He only knew that one morning, he'd reach for his coffee, open the paper and there she'd be, staring at him from under a mop of orange hair.
They always printed her picture in color.
She probably dyed her hair.
"If she'd designed this house, we'd have made a ton of money."
Jared squeezed his eyes shut as he absorbed the unintentional insult.
"Uh, hey." The skeleton, Danny, ripped off his cape and reached behind his head to remove the mask. "I mean...you don't normally do stuff like this."
Conscious of Danny's discomfort, Jared moved toward the exit. "So, have you been through a Wilcox haunted house before?"
"Oh, yeah! It was baaad."
A compliment of the highest order. "What was so...bad about it?"
"You never knew what was going to happen. I mean--" Danny began to gesture excitedly " --it was in this little place, but once you got inside you walked and turned and walked--like you'd gone into a huge secret room, or something."
"Lots of steps," Jared murmured to himself. That sounded like Elizabeth. She enjoyed keeping people disorientated, catching them off guard.
"I went through about five times and each time, I saw some more stuff." Danny grinned sheepishly. "Stuff I ran by the other times."
Five times. Repeat business. A big money-maker. And now just the words, “designed by Elizabeth Wilcox” were enough to draw people.
Jared intensely disliked Elizabeth Wilcox.
"And then, once I knew where all the scary places were, you know, I'd take girls through. I'd be real cool and they'd be screaming and grabbing onto me..."
Danny continued talking, extolling the virtues of the Wilcox house he'd visited. They’d reached the walkway outside the Hanes Memorial Rehabilitation Clinic near downtown Dallas when a van pulled into the drive. As Jared watched, a woman jumped down and opened the back of the van, pulled out a wheel chair and unfolded it. She rolled it around to the side, and then maneuvered a young girl out of the van and into the chair.
The girl and her mother were due for a long wait no matter what time their appointment was. The clinic always ran late because it didn't have enough equipment.
As the wheelchair rolled up the entrance ramp, Jared's gaze lingered on the girl's legs, then dropped to his own. His time at the clinic was nearly over, but hers would continue. Years of her young life would be wasted in that crowded waiting room. Wasted because there wasn't enough equipment.
It wasn't fair, and he was determined to raise money for the clinic, even if he had to build a haunted house.
Even if he had to call Elizabeth Wilcox--his ex-wife.
***
Lizzie squinted up at the two-story building one more time, then started her car. The framing was completed on the Haunted Hotel, and now the crew would concentrate on the interior. Everything was right on schedule for the grand opening on Halloween.
She could hardly wait. This was the biggest, most important commission of her career. One that would establish a year-round showcase of her unusual talent--as well as providing year-round income for the first time. The hotel was in a ghost town being built to draw tourists to an area southwest of Houston. The developers hoped to attract publicity for the town's official spring opening by allowing a sneak peak at the Haunted Hotel on Halloween.
Lizzie planned to supervise this project closely. It was her highest priority, and she wanted it to be perfect.
Thirty minutes later, she breezed past her receptionist's desk in the three-story former residence that now housed her architectural firm. "Any messages, Carleen?"
"Any messages, Carleen," mimicked the plump receptionist. "What do you think? Of course there're messages. There're always messages this time of year."
Lizzie perched on the corner of Carleen's desk and thumbed through white ghost-shaped pieces of paper. "I remember a time when there weren't messages."
"I don't," Carleen grumbled. "I've had that phone stuck in my ear all day." She glared at the telephone, which promptly warbled. "Great. Now when am I supposed to put up the Halloween decorations?"
Lizzie laughed and slid off the desk. "If that's for me, I'll take it in my office."
Carleen nodded, answered the phone and put the caller on hold. "Surprise. It's for you."
Anticipating that the call would be, Lizzie was already walking toward her office. She paused in the doorway, admiring the spacious, light-drenched room and was filled with a sense of well-being. She was busy, but happy. How many other people really liked their jobs?
Lizzie approached her desk and dragged the phone across it, so she could sit on the window ledge and gaze outside while she talked. She loved autumn, even though Houston autumns weren't the crisp, bright-leafed autumns of her childhood.
And she loved October. Wonderful things happened in October.
"Hello," she said brightly, her happiness apparent in her voice.
"Elizabeth?"
The well-bred masculine tones shattered Lizzie's good mood.
"Yes," she managed, with the last breath of air left in her lungs.
"Elizabeth, it's Jared."
She knew that. She'd known his voice instantly.
What she didn't know was why he was calling her after three years. She remembered clearly her last words to him: If you change your mind, call me.
Well, the statute of limitations had run out on changes of mind.
"Jared Rutledge," he elaborated with irritation, obviously taking her silence for nonrecognition.
"Hello, Jared." Hello Jared? She'd waited over three years for him to call and the best she could come up with was hello Jared.
"How have you been, Elizabeth?"
"Fine." What a silly conversation this was. But still, terribly correct and polite. Just like all their conversations during the ugly time when they'd met at lawyers' offices to dissolve their business.
And their marriage.
It was her turn to ask a question. She wasn't going to, because the only one she wanted to ask was why he'd called.
But his silence chided her. She was supposed to say something. "How are your parents?"
"They're well," he replied.
Jared's parents lived in Sweetwater, a country-club community south of Houston. He was probably in town visiting them. She almost asked, except it wasn't her turn.
"I've been hearing quite a bit about your...work."
The hesitation was slight, but Lizzie had been listening carefully. She could hear the effort Jared made to be conciliatory, elevating her designs to the status of "work."
Jared had always looked down his very patrician nose at her haunted house designs.
And, eventually, he'd looked down his nose at her.
She pushed away the hurtful memories. So he'd been hearing about her. "I've been interviewed by a lot of reporters lately. Haunted houses are seasonal, and this is my busiest time of year." Maybe he'd take the hint and get to the point of his phone call.
"Yes." He cleared his throat. "I've designed a haunted house--"
"You?" Lizzie exploded in a laugh. "I thought you never wanted anything to do with haunted houses again." Or anyone who designed them.
"Haunted houses have their place. I chose not to make them my life's calling."
And Lizzie had. She heard the implied criticism and bristled.
Jared continued, "I've become associated with a physical therapy clinic here in Dallas, and I wanted to help them raise money. A haunted house seemed like the best way to do that."
"Because you thought it would be easy," Lizzie scoffed.
There was a rebuking pause. "As I recall, the houses we built together in college weren't difficult," he said evenly.
"That was a long time ago." They'd raised more money than any other project in the history of the school. She and Jared had won an award. She wondered where the plaque was now.
"We worked well together didn't we, Elizabeth?"
Lizzie gripped the telephone receiver. She recognized that honeyed tone in Jared's voice. He used it when he wanted something from her. She'd always found it difficult to refuse without sounded petty and unreasonable. "What do you want?"
He chuckled, seemingly unperturbed that his favorite form of manipulation was no longer effective. "I want you to help me build the house."
Oh, he did, did he? "Why?"
"It's what you do for a living, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. I meant, why me?"
"You're supposed to be the best."
If not for the “supposed to” Jared had inserted, Lizzie would have been flattered. She said nothing.
The silence stretched. "Am I supposed to beg now?" Disdain filled his voice.
It didn't bother her. She'd heard disdain in his voice before. Frequently. "Depends on how desperate you are."
She'd expected that to end their conversation. To her surprise, Jared responded quietly. "This project is important to me and some special people who're depending on me. I want it to succeed." She heard him take a deep breath, as if forcing himself to continue. "Would you come take a look at it?"
"You want me to come to Dallas?" she asked in amazement.
"Yes. And after you see the house, you can make some suggestions or redo the design."
"Jared!" Lizzie was nearly speechless. "You don't know what you're asking."
"It's for a good cause--"
"They're all good causes--"
"Okay. How about if I give you the dimensions now, and then you jot down a few ideas and fax them to me?"
"I don't just churn out designs. I spend at least ten to fourteen business days on them!" Nothing infuriated Lizzie more than when someone belittled her career. "My houses take two to three months to build. This is the first of October. You don't have time to build a house this year. If you want to commission a design for next year, I'll schedule you in."
"Then come to Dallas and tell me how to fix this one." He sounded like the Jared of old. The persuasive and determined Jared who always had an answer to every objection. Nothing would dare go wrong with Jared at the helm.
But she couldn't go to Dallas. Oh, she wanted to. She wanted to gloat. She wanted to show him how successful she'd become. If only he'd called, say, in March. But he hadn't. "I don't have time."
"For this project or for me?"
That wasn't fair. "For anyone."
"Flights leave Houston for Dallas every half hour." Jared never gave up. "You could fly up in the morning, look at the site and be back in your office after lunch."
How like him to assume she had entire half days free. "This is my busiest time of the year,” she reiterated. Every minute is booked from now until after Halloween. I can't."
"Please." His voice was gruff.
"Jared..." Lizzie felt herself weaken, despite all the years of telling herself she was better off without him.
"For the kids, then. Handicapped children, Elizabeth."
Lizzie exhaled sharply. "You're pulling all the strings, aren't you?"
"Whatever it takes."
And it didn't used to take much, she remembered. She and Jared had been a team--publicly and privately.
But that was ancient history. "I realize you think I'm exacting some sort of petty revenge by refusing to help, but I'm not. I simply don't have the time."
He obviously didn't believe her. "I'll pay you."
He meant to shame her, but he didn't.
"If I had the time, I'd expect to be paid. This is how I make my living."
"Then is business so good you can afford to turn down a fee because you're bitter?"
"Actually, it is." And she was delighted to say so. "Now goodbye, Jared."
"Elizabeth--wait. Don't hang up. Please."
If he'd commanded her not to hang up, she would have slammed down the phone. But she couldn't resist his quiet plea.
Only a few moments ticked by before her surrender. "Tell me about the house." It was a mistake and she knew it.
Well, nobody was perfect.
He immediately launched into a description. "This house has some special constraints. It must be completely wheelchair accessible. That means no bumpy floors or obstructions can contribute to the atmosphere."
"All my designs are wheelchair accessible," Lizzie informed him with satisfaction. She'd designed them that way even before it was mandatory.
"But being accessible and being enjoyable are entirely different!" Jared snapped. "Giving those kids a good time is as important to me as raising the money. I tried lowering the scary sights to wheelchair level. And rather than a lot of narrow corridors, I built a series of connecting rooms, but the house isn't effective."
"Have you blocked out all the light?"
"Yes."
"Tell me what I'd see if I went through."
"You'd be guided by a skeleton." Using a guide was his first mistake, Lizzie thought. "First, there's a crypt, then a dungeon, Dracula's’ coffin, the mad doctor's lab..."
Lizzie closed her eyes as Jared described his haunted house. There was not one original idea or startle. It was extremely tame by haunted house standards, and Lizzie knew massive modifications would be required if he hoped to compete with the professional houses--including two of her designs--operating in the Dallas area this Halloween.
The public had become much more sophisticated since the early days of her business. On the other hand, Jared had indicated that the house primarily was for wheelchairs. An interesting angle. She would've enjoyed the challenge.
But not this year. "I'm sure the house will be fine, Jared."
"No, it isn't fine!" he lashed out. "If I thought it was fine, I wouldn't be talking to you now!"
"I see."
"Elizabeth--"
"Jared Rutledge is sacrificing himself for a greater good. How noble of you to stoop to designing frivolous structures, Jared."
Lizzie took a particular pleasure in throwing Jared's own words back at him. I'd rather starve than design frivolous structures for a living, he'd said. And she'd said, if you change your mind, call me.
He never had. Until today.
"I suppose I deserved that."
"Yes, you did."
"I apologize if I hurt you."
"If you hurt me?" Why had she said that? Lizzie held her breath, wishing she could take back her words.
"You must despise me, maybe even hate me." He sounded thoughtful.
Lizzie's laugh was strained. Jared was uncomfortably close to the truth. "I hardly give you a thought."
He ignored her. "I'll bet you've been dying for a chance to show me how successful you've become."
Even though she was alone in her office, Lizzie felt her face heat in a blush of embarrassment. "Nonsense."
"Think, Elizabeth. You'd be in charge. You could boss me around and make my life miserable." His voice took on the familiar honeyed resonance. "Here's your chance--"
"Jared, I'm much too busy to continue this absurd conversation--"
"Maybe the only chance you'll ever get. Are you woman enough to take it?"
CHAPTER TWO
Only a fool would fall for such an obvious ploy.
So why was Lizzie flying to Dallas?
She knew Jared had to be desperate to have called her. But had she let him wallow in his desperation? Had she told him, "Tough luck, buster?"
No, like a wimp, she'd fallen for his silver-tongued manipulations. She was more marshmallow than architect.
Not only had she told Jared she'd take a look at his haunted house, which was bad enough, but she'd also told him she'd come today--that was where the marshmallow part came in.
Oh, he'd been absolutely right in everything he'd said. She did want to sashay over to his site, wave a magic wand and solve his problems, thus leaving him forever in her debt. And then she planned to remind him of it--frequently.
Lizzie adjusted the mini-blinds at her bedroom window to let in the morning light and wandered over to her closet.
She wanted to gloat. She wanted an apology for the way he'd sneered at her work. She wanted to hear him say, "Elizabeth, I was wrong and you were right."
She wanted his approval.
And that bothered her.
His opinion had mattered to her for so long, deferring to it became a bad habit. What difference should Jared Rutledge’s opinions about anything make to her?
He was nothing to her now. She rarely thought about him.
Lizzie flipped through her clothes. If she was going to be a marshmallow, she was going to be a professional marshmallow. She caught herself rejecting clothes by whether or not Jared would approve of them. Gritting her teeth, she blindly reached for anything vaguely appropriate.
Happily, the pumpkin-colored city shorts outfit she grabbed was perfect. She adored fall colors and enjoyed wearing the golds and oranges and cinnamons and browns and forest-greens that set off her carroty red hair.
As she flung the suit on the bed, her eye caught the glowing numerals of her digital clock.
She was late. Any moment now, Carleen's footsteps would sound on the stairs. If Lizzie wasn't downstairs by eight-thirty in the morning, Carleen had instructions to wake her up.
Lizzie lived in an airy apartment on the third floor of the building housing her firm. It was not uncommon for her to toil long into the night and fall asleep sprawled on the pillowed couch.
Last night, she'd done precisely that. In order to clear the morning for Jared, she'd fine-tuned designs and composed a list of instructions for Carleen.
"Lizzie, are you awake?" Carleen, right on schedule.
"Coming!" Lizzie called.
"You've got to see what I bought," Carleen continued talking through the closed door, bursting inside when Lizzie finally opened it. "Look!"
"A Halloween wreath!" Lizzie examined the straw circle decorated with ghosts, bats, witches, skeletons and pumpkins. Spiders dangled below and a yellow moon rose above. "This is perfect for the front door."
"Sure beats Indian corn." Carleen beamed. After a moment, Lizzie realized she was supposed to notice something. Carleen shook her head, sending white ghost earrings swaying.
"Those are great." Lizzie grinned, tweaking an earring with her finger.
"Glad you like them." Carleen handed Lizzie a small white box. "I bought a pair for you, too."
"Thanks. You may be the only person who likes Halloween more than I do." Lizzie stood in front of the mirror over her fireplace mantle and clipped on the ghost earrings.
Carleen held her wreath up against Lizzie's door and studied the effect. "Why can't we decorate three months early for Halloween like the stores do for Christmas?"
"I don't know...Halloween decorations in August?" Lizzie held her hair back and shook her head. The lightweight ghosts danced and bobbed. "Tell you what, next year I'll let you put up the decorations in the last week of September."
"Hooray!" Carleen turned to go. "I'll write a note on the calendar and try to think up another bribe by then."
Lizzie laughed as the door closed behind her effervescent secretary.
She admired her ghost earrings for a while longer, then reluctantly removed them. Today was not the day for silly earrings. Not if she wanted Jared to take her seriously.
And she did. She might as well admit it and stop feeling guilty about wanting him to see her as a success. He never thought she could support herself designing haunted houses. He'd thought she would fail. She hadn't.
Lizzie dressed quickly, accessorizing the suit with tasteful gold earrings and plain black sneakers, rather than the ones sporting appliquéd pumpkins. She examined herself in the bathroom's full-length mirror. The city shorts were fashionable and practical. When she climbed around construction sites, she didn't wear dresses and it was too hot for pants.
But her hair was all wrong. It was naturally curly and usually did whatever it wanted in the Houston humidity. Today her hair was particularly wild and unruly. Lizzie gathered it into a bunch and clipped it back with a tortoise shell barrette.
My, didn't she look dowdy. Jared would approve. Jared liked dowdiness in businesswomen. He thought the more dowdy they were, the more successful they were, presumably because they didn't take time away from their businesses to shop for clothes.
After a short inner debate, Lizzie fastened a gold house pin to her lapel. At least it would appear to be a house pin to the casual observer. Any female architect might wear such a pin. Unique, but tasteful. In fact, no one would notice the bats or the ghosts or the scraggly tree branches unless they spent a great deal of time staring at her left breast.
And so what if Jared did notice the pin?
She grinned. She should have worn her skull with the blinking red eyes.
Carleen wasn't at her desk when Lizzie trotted down the stairs. She found her outside, putting ghost and pumpkin lights in the bushes.
"Where are you going?" Carleen asked.
"Dallas," Lizzie answered breezily.
"Not today you're not. At ten o'clock, you're meeting with the Pearland Civic Committee and at noon, you promised those college kids you'd be back for a final inspection on their Shrieks by Greeks house." Carleen never confused the frivolous with the practical.
Lizzie felt guilty. "Please reschedule the Civic people. You can fax them the preliminary sketches I drew last night. If they have technical questions, they can ask Edward." Edward was her assistant, a recent graduate apprenticing with her until he passed his licensing exam.
"They didn't hire Edward. They hired you."
"They hired Elizabeth Wilcox Architects, with an 's'. I did the sketches, and I'll do the design. Just not the meeting today."
Carleen stopped stringing lights and looked at her. "And the college kids?"
Lizzie fingered one of the lights. "Tell them I'll come by later this afternoon."
"So you'll be returning today."
Lizzie nodded.
Carleen clicked her tongue. "I'll check the calendar and see when you can fit in the Civic Committee."
Feeling like a chastened schoolgirl, Lizzie followed her secretary inside.
"Let's see..." Carleen put on her reading glasses and flipped through the scheduling calendar.
Lizzie couldn't look.
"Hmm." Carleen peered over the tops of her glasses, then turned the book around so it faced Lizzie. "You pick a time."
Every block contained a scribbled note.
"What's Edward's calendar like?"
"Almost as bad."
Lizzie glanced at her watch and bit her lip. "I've got to get to the airport or I'm going to blow the whole day." She sighed, staring at her packed calendar. "See what you can schedule for four o'clock on."
Carleen's mouth was set in a disapproving line as she turned the calendar back around. "You aren't scheduled to visit Dallas until the week after next. Trouble with the Richardson Mall project?"
"No." Lizzie checked the clasps on her briefcase to avoid Carleen's speculative gaze.
"Where can you be reached?"
"Uh...through Rutledge Architects."
"You're kidding."
"No." Lizzie wished she'd never confided in Carleen. But when the motherly Carleen wanted to know why Lizzie never accepted dates, Lizzie told her all about Jared--in watery detail.
"Would this be the same Rutledge who was your partner?"
"The very one."
"The man to whom you were married for four years?"
"Four and a half." Involuntarily, Lizzie rubbed her bare ring finger.
"The Jared Rutledge you cried over when you thought I wasn't looking?"
"Go finish stringing your lights," Lizzie mumbled.
"I'd like to string his lights," was Carleen's spirited reply.
Lizzie sent a look of exasperated affection toward her secretary. "It's okay, Carleen. He needs my help."
"For what?"
"He's building a haunted house."
"So tell him to get in line and no cuts." Her secretary scanned the appointment book. "Here. You’ve got an opening in January."
"I want to go today and get it over with." Lizzie hoisted her briefcase and started for the door. "Besides, I know how much it annoyed him to have to call me. He must be in a real fix."
"Be careful," Carleen warned. "You act jumpier than a frog in a hot skillet."
Lizzie chuckled. "Don't worry, Carleen. This is just another consultation. I resolved my feelings for Jared long ago."
***
She lied.
She hadn't resolved anything. Didn't she secretly hope Jared was using the haunted house as an excuse to see her again? As a way of apologizing for ridiculing her occupation?
Lizzie spent the entire one-hour flight to Dallas lost in a nostalgic fog.
Jared, with his lethal smile, his intensity and his enthusiasm for their projects. The way he had taken her innovative ideas and turned them into viable designs. The fire in his eyes as they’d planned their life together. Late nights spent studying. The struggles they'd shared setting up their business.
These were all feelings she tried to squash by dredging up memories of the bitter quarrels and hurtful insults they'd flung at each other.
Still, as the plane landed, she had to wipe her palms on the seat. Her heart pounded and her stomach churned with the anticipation of seeing him again.
Deliberately waiting to be the last one off the plane, she stepped out of the jetway and scanned the crowd for Jared's tall figure.
But Jared wasn't there. When she didn't see him she hesitated, searching for anyone who might be looking for her. She should be expected; she'd called his office from the airport in Houston and told them what flight she'd be on.
It was soon obvious that no one was meeting her. Miffed, she called Jared's office again. They informed her that he was already at the site.
How imperious. How arrogant. How typical. By now, Lizzie was angrier with herself than she was with Jared. He'd asked for her help, yet here she was, dropping everything at his convenience. He might show some consideration and a little gratitude.
She had to rent a car. The Dallas-Fort Worth airport was miles from anything and a fortune in cab fare.
Grumbling during the entire drive to the Hanes Memorial Haunted House, she was surprised to feel her palms dampen as she neared the building site.
Get a grip, she commanded herself as she turned into the clinic's parking lot. Once was enough for the sweaty palms and queasy stomach drill.
The Hanes Memorial Rehabilitation Clinic wasn’t very big. They didn't look as if they could afford much in the way of haunted houses.
If done correctly haunted houses were great money-makers, but they required an initial investment of materials and labor that could run to thousands of dollars.
Even so, it was rather small potatoes for Jared.
No, she was being unfair. The Jared she'd gone to school with had felt no job was too small to be designed well.
But the Jared she'd gone to school with had grown into the life-is-too-serious-to-have-fun Jared she'd left.
Which Jared had called her two days ago?
Lizzie parked her car, searching for any Jared at all.
The site was deserted, except for two vans parked outside the clinic.
Hanes Memorial was in a medical office park with several freestanding buildings clustered around beautifully landscaped grounds that gleamed in the bright sunlight.
The haunted house, also free standing, was an eyesore, just as it should be. It was also easily accessible and near a busy intersection, allowing it plenty of exposure.
Lizzie had to give Jared some credit for a good location, much as she didn't want to. At least he hadn't forgotten everything they'd learned together.
She could hear pounding from inside the house and picked her way over discarded lumber. The hammering continued. She inhaled, ready to call out and noted the distinctive odor of fire-retardant paint. Good.
"Hello, Elizabeth."
She jumped. Jared.
His voice came from behind her. She turned, looking up, her neck muscles instantly remembering how far back she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes.
To meet his lips.
"Hello, Ja--"
She faltered when her gaze was drawn down to the man sitting before her.
The man sitting in a wheel chair.
Lizzie gasped and stared. She felt the blood rush from her head, leaving her woozy.
"Jared," she whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?" Dropping her briefcase, she sank to her knees, clutching the arm of the wheelchair. Tears filled her eyes. No wonder he hadn't met her at the airport.
"Elizabeth...no. Don't cry. You don't understand." She heard him swear softly. "This isn't what you think."
She felt his hands on her shoulders as his image blurred. Jared, her Jared had been hurt. He'd needed her and she hadn't been there for him.
"What's there to think?" she choked, the tears spilling out. She didn't care that crying made her freckled face blotchy. "You're in a wheelchair!"
"Not for long." He shook her shoulder. "Elizabeth..."
He was being so brave. She gazed into his coffee-colored eyes, shaded by heavy black brows. A dry breeze ruffled the layers of his hair, still the same rich sable. His jaw was as chiseled as ever, and his chin, which had a tendency to jut when he was being obstinate, was still as prominent.
"How did it hap--pen?" Her voice broke.
One long-fingered hand squeezed hers, his thumb rubbing soothingly across her knuckles. "An accident. Listen to me," he commanded with the beginnings of irritation. "It's only temporary. I'll recover. I'm going to walk again."
Temporary? Recover? "You will?" Lizzie sniffed. "Really?" It would be just like Jared to tell her that so she wouldn't worry about him. Dear Jared.
"Really," he said in his you're-being-over-dramatic-again voice.
"Oh."
A corner of his mouth slanted upward. "Don't sound so disappointed."
She snatched her hand away. "I'm not." But she was rather chagrined to find herself blubbering over a minor injury. "I'm delighted." She gave a delighted little laugh to prove it. "It was the...the shock."
And Jared in a wheelchair wasn't the only shock, a shaky Lizzie discovered as she stood. Her knees felt damp. She looked down and saw they were coated with dirt. Brushing off the moist earth gave her a chance to recover from the stunning realization that besides not having resolved her feelings for Jared, she still cared for him.
Deeply.
Too deeply.
Furthermore, she knew her emotions had gone sailing across her face for him to read. Now he'd gloat. "You might have warned me, that's all."
"It didn't occur to me to mention my temporary confinement to a wheelchair. I forgot you didn't know." His gaze moved over her, stopping somewhere, she judged, in the area of her left breast. Lizzie hoped her pounding heart wasn't visible beneath the pin.
She'd intended to remain coolly remote. Purely professional. But how could she act remote after practically fainting at his feet?
Lizzie picked up her briefcase and rubbed off the dirt clinging to the bottom. She'd have to treat him like an old, dear friend, who happened to be an ex-husband. Someone she'd outgrown, but nonetheless thought of fondly--when she thought of him at all.
"Jared, dear, how have you been other than ?" Lizzie waved vaguely.
"Other than shattering my ankle and living in this wheeled prison for five weeks?" He sounded testy.
"Does it hurt?"
"Of course, it hurts!"
He was understandably cranky. She'd forgive him. "Poor Jared."
"Would you quit saying my name like I'm the family pet?"
"Yes, Jared." Lizzie patted him on the head. They were back to badgering one another. She understood badgering. She excelled at badgering.
Jared gave her a look that slowly melted into the wintry smile. "Elizabeth, how have I managed without you?"
"Not at all well." She reached out and snapped his suspenders. "You look as if you need somebody to loosen you up."
Something flashed in his eyes, then his smile turned mocking. "And you think Frizzy Lizzie, the Scream Queen, is the perfect candidate?"
"Maybe." She swallowed back a biting retort. Unfortunately, badgering had a tendency to degenerate into quarreling. And there was no need to quarrel just because he'd used her old nickname. He'd probably forgotten how much she hated it. However, it was obviously up to her to set the professional standards during this meeting. "Shall we inspect your haunted house?"
He gestured toward the doorway. "This house is geared for people in wheelchairs, you remember."
"I remember." Lizzie stepped into a sizable room. Wasted space, she thought immediately. "Where is your scare by the entrance?"
"There isn't one. We don't want to give anything away to the people waiting outside."
"That's okay. Your patrons should be thrown off balance right away. Show them you mean business." She walked on. "What happens next?"
Jared rolled over to a coffin. "We let them look in this." He lifted the lid and showed a shrouded skeleton. "While their attention is on the skeleton in this coffin, another skeleton jumps out and scares them."
"From where?"
Jared pointed to a corridor ahead of them.
Lizzie shook her head. "You've got to scare forward. If the skeleton enters from this direction, they'll run--roll--back toward the entrance and jam up with the next group."
Jared considered her words. "Then we won't allow the next group in until this one leaves the room."
Lizzie set her briefcase on the skeleton's coffin and removed some paper. "You'll only serve half as many people that way. Let's build a wall here--" she gestured toward the doorway "--and the skeleton can jump from behind there. That way, you'll scare the group out of this room faster and you can let in the next bunch."
"Perfect," Jared agreed. "I don't know why I didn't think of that."
His compliment made her heart skitter. "Because you don't spend all year studying and building haunted houses." Maybe now, he'd understand a little of what went into one of her designs.
"Thank heaven for that!" Jared wheeled over to examine her sketch.
Lizzie felt the same old hurt, but held her tongue. He probably didn't even realize he'd insulted her. She'd ignore it because when he thought back on this consultation, she wanted him to remember how professional and competent she'd acted.
He watched as she drew. "I knew it would only take you a few minutes to get this place into shape."
"Maybe a bit longer than that," she murmured and sensed his thoughtful scrutiny of her.
"You know, you really are talented." His voice was warmly sincere.
Happiness bubbled within her. She stopped drawing to gaze down at him. He wore the crooked smile that had always made her toes curl.
She should look away. It wasn't a good idea to let him see how much she still cared. "Thank you," she said softly.
"Elizabeth," he leaned forward, an intent expression on his face "--why haven't you tried to design something really important?"
A deadly quiet fell between them.
The nostalgia, which had haunted her ever since his call, dissipated. "Really important?"
"I know you could," he insisted, "if you'd only try."
"I thought this--" Lizzie gestured around her "--was important. So important that you asked me to drop everything to come here."
Jared made an exasperated sound. "You know what I mean."
"Yes." She stared at him for a long moment. "I think I do."
He despised her work. And he'd never reverse his opinion. She remembered his contempt for her and her designs at the end of their marriage.
She also remembered how much she'd attempt to change herself. How she'd always played peacemaker in their relationship.
Even today, she'd held her tongue, shrugged off remarks and gritted her teeth until her jaw ached.
What was she doing here? What was the matter with her? She didn't have to tolerate his cutting remarks in order to preserve their marriage. There was no longer a marriage to preserve.
She didn't need this. She certainly didn't need him. She had flown to Dallas. She had canceled appointments. If she left now, she could still meet with the college kids at noon and stop by the Haunted Hotel, too.
All in all, Lizzie felt she could allow herself the luxury of a grand exit.
She shoved her sketches into her briefcase. Without a word, without a flounce, without a backward glance, Lizzie, consciously professional, strode out the front door of the Hanes Memorial Haunted House and headed toward her rental car.
"Elizabeth?" Jared called from inside.
She unlocked the car door.
"Elizabeth, what are you doing?" He was at the entrance now.
She opened the door, tossed her briefcase inside and climbed in after it.
"Elizabeth!" he roared.
She slammed the door, then unfastened her tortoiseshell barrette, freeing her hair.
"Elizabeth?" Muffled.
She cranked the ignition and shook out her hair, running her fingers through it, encouraging it to fluff.
"E-liiizzz-a-beeeth!"
Lizzie smiled and adjusted her rearview mirror so she could see Jared's face.
Then she drove off.
CHAPTER THREE
Jared slammed the arms of his wheelchair and bit back a curse. Still the same temperamental Elizabeth who considered her bizarre designs high art.
Once, her antics had been refreshingly appealing. By the end of their marriage, they'd become tiresomely irritating. He'd hoped she might have matured. But no, she continued to indulge in dramatic tantrums and grand exits.
This time he couldn't run after her.
The last time he hadn't run after her.
And she hadn't come back. He had no doubt she wouldn't come back this time, either.
He wasn't entirely sure what had set her off but suspected it was his remark about her designing something important. He meant to be complimentary. She was quick and talented and it had always bothered him that she hadn't tackled a major commission.
He should've left the subject alone. He as good as accused her of wasting her talent drawing junk. And that's what she did. Throwaway designs. Nothing that would last. Nothing she could look back on years from now and say proudly, "I designed that."
Maybe that didn't bother her. And it shouldn't bother him.
Jared ran his fingers through his hair. Okay, he shouldn't have criticized her. But why couldn't she have just said, "Jared, if I want to design junk, I'll design junk."
Because it wasn't dramatic enough.
"Is she here yet?" Danny's voice sounded behind him.
Jared gazed at the empty spot where Elizabeth's car had been parked. "Here and gone."
"Already?"
Jared exhaled through gritted teeth.
"Did she even look at the house?" Danny asked, perplexed. "Will she help us?"
She might if Jared groveled. Elizabeth enjoyed creative groveling. "I don't know." He rolled himself through the doorway.
Danny followed him outside. "What happened?"
"An old disagreement got in the way."
"Huh?"
Jared glanced over his shoulder. "She's my ex-wife."
"Wow." Danny regarded him with awe. "You were married to her? Then how come you don't design haunted houses like she does?"